So it was well past his birthday, but, as he kept reminding himself, he was Draco Bloody Malfoy, and he could do whatever struck his fancy. That he was a victim of mood swings was no secret. The wizard hadn't felt like having a party on his birthday, but now he did. Deal with it, friends. And so, with the 'fuck it, let's do this right,' attitude,
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He was going to do everything in his power to make Draco's night glorious.
It occurred to him, when he got to the club, just how little he'd mingled with Draco's other friends. Scanning the room, he smiled a little and shook his head at thinking his cloak would be flamboyant.
He should have known better.
Either way, he was glad he'd kept it, as he'd otherwise worn things he was more comfortable in--leather breeches, a flowing shirt, boots with iron studs. Always iron somwhere. He'd left off the rapier he never liked using, but had his wooden flute tucked in his belt.
Moving through the club, he let himself work on adjusting to the music as he got himself a drink and searched for his wizard.
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he might have elbowed a few people out of the way to get to the middle. Because really, nothing was better than being in the thick of it and losing one's self.
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He let Draco pull him to the center of the dance floor, watching the people moving all around him with dazed delight. He'd watched this sort of dancing since being here of course, but it felt a bit different moving in the midst of it.
Still, he'd been in Faerie long enough that the music tended to make him want to dance. It didn't look that hard, after all.
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He still took a moment, watching, catching the beat of the music, and then he shrugged and went for it, trying to do just what Draco advised.
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